


El Aguila de la Libertad

by alinewrites



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-03 12:57:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alinewrites/pseuds/alinewrites





	1. Chapter 1

“You cannot seriously believe that I’m going to take this job,” Kerry said, turning around to look at the men sitting on his brand new leather couch. “Or can you?”

The two men exchanged a pained look. “We had hoped you would. Our leader needs protection and you are the best in this field.”

Kerry shook his head. “I am. But not in this particular case. Get him some local guy who knows the country, knows the context…” 

“We have those already. What we need is… different.”

The other man had not talked yet. He was shorter, and younger. Dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair and tentative English. From what Kerry understood, their iconic leader was not keen on being protected; they relied on Kerry’s well-known talents to convince him to let him be some sort of protective shadow.

If anything, that convinced Kerry that the meeting was indeed over. He did not feel like becoming anyone’s shadow. Personal involvement was out of question. Protecting public people was a job he had taken up for the money; he had been successful with it but this was something else. “I am not comfortable with affect,” he said. And more than that he was not risking his life in some godforsaken country, lost in the depths of the Amazonian jungle to protect a reluctant idealist bushfighter, no matter how just and virtuous his so called “cause” was. No way. Ecology, social justice and all the according bullshit would make him killed more surely than anything else.

He dismissed them with brisk politeness – they insisted on leaving a number he could call, would he come to change his mind. His answering smile was cold and final.

Greed though is a demanding mistress. A few weeks after that fruitless meeting Kerry spotted a beautiful mansion, a retired half-abandoned place 30 miles North from Cardiff where he would feel safe and find the peace of mind he craved, a place where hopefully he would feel at home at last. A place that would give him the sense of familiar comfort he had been looking for all his life. The thing came to an exorbitant price, though and Kerry was torn between fulfilling a childhood dream and being his usual practical rational self – something he prided himself on. He debated the case for a whole week, annoyed by the desire he felt for this house and what came with it, and eventually surrendered. In the meantime he had read a few articles about that country whose rebels seemed to have such a great need of help and the presence of so many emerald mines had comforted him in his decision.

He retrieved their card in his trash bin and spent a few minutes piecing up the torn bits together …

“I changed my mind,” he told them on the phone. “I’ll take the job.” I’ll regret it, he thought. I already do.

…………………………..

The flight was long and annoying. Once he had left the touristic capital and its dusty streets constantly kept under surveillance by armed soldiers, the hotels were decaying. The lush tropical vegetation slowly invaded even the most luxurious settings, thick roots crawling on the tarred alleys, disjointing the tiles, coiling up around the streetlamps. The hot breeze was saturated with humidity, thick clouds shadowing the sun. Storms rolled in the distance but rain never fell. Kerry’s driver was silent and vaguely hostile. The only appreciation he’d shown had been at the sight of Kerry’s guns – a rare smile. That was fine to Kerry. He was not the sociable kind. He was no tourist either so the sight of ancient crumbling Mayan vestiges (or were they Aztec? He wasn’t sure) left him rather cold. He focused on the meeting to come. He had made it quite clear that his acceptance of the job was conditional. There was a significant possibility that it would not work. Maybe they would find no common ground upon which to negotiate, no modus vivendi, no possibility to do his job properly. If he declined the offer, would they still give him a driver to go back to the civilization? The sudden slowdown of the Jeep pulled him out of his thoughts. The camp – they called it La ciudad de la Libertad. The city of freedom. Bullshit. To Kerry’s eyes it looked barely better than a piling of wooden sheds with roofs of corrugated iron. Square holes to let the wind inside – and the rain. He sighed, staring at the men in uniform gathering behind the car. Soldiers? Or farmers hastily requisitioned? Rather that, Kerry thought. The bumpy dirt track stopped in front of a bigger, official looking house ornate with a bunch of flags. Actual windows, a thick wooden door and two men playing cards sitting on stools, blocking the entrance. They stood up at Kerry’s sight and grabbed their guns, not quite hostile but certainly not friendly. After a brief discussion with Kerry’s driver they led them inside. One of them confiscated Kerry’s weapons and pushed him into the room without gentleness.

It took him a few seconds to get used to the shadows. The blinds had been pulled against the merciless sun. An old fan hung from the ceiling, its wheezy blades stirring the thick hot hair. The room smelled of eucalyptus, sweat and cold coffee. Eight men were standing around a table, engrossed in the study of old maps. From where he stood, Kerry could see the red, green and blue pins marking the positions. Some places on the map were circled with a thick red mark. The marker pen was held by the man, the leader obviously, standing at the center of the group. There was something almost religious to the scene. The silence, the men’s stillness, their evident adoration for their boss…

When he looked up at Kerry his brown eyes went cold and his probably friendly expression froze in a mask of absolute anger. His voice boomed in the room like thunder. “Of all the people in the universe, how dare *you* come here?”

Kerry saw the guns pointed at him, heard the deadly clic of the safety catches. Paralyzed with an agonizing sense of doom, he thought that this was impossible; that he was dreaming, that the man slowly walking around the table and up to him wasn’t…

“Blake?”

The man’s eyes mirrored his own stupefaction. The room started spinning and the combination of shock, excessive heat and starving got the better of him. Kerry passed out.


	2. La Madre de la Nacion

Travelling back to England proved chaotic. 

Blake offered to lend him an old, wheezy Jeep but no driver. “You can leave it at the airport. Someone will drive it back here.” It was a generous offer. Generous made Kerry suspicious; it was hard to forget how enraged Blake had looked an hour ago.

“You speak perfect English,” Kerry noted.

“My parents sent me to Harvard. I should have become a lawyer.”

Of course. Rich family in a poor country. Guilt. Hence the radical political choices.

“I never wanted to be a lawyer,” Blake added

“I understand. It’s so much safer here, fighting an inequitable system with a bunch of peasants and outdated weapons.”

“Not only inequitable,” Blake corrected with a disapproving frown. “Tyrannical, homicidal, corrupted, oppressive… And safety is not what I’m looking for.”

Kerry bit back a cutting retort. “I’m not having this conversation with you. It’s useless.” He felt tired suddenly. “I should be going.”

Blake handed him the keys of the car and walked him out to a small garage. In the darkness Kerry saw a dozen of ancient military vehicles. 

Blake pointed at a Jeep. “This one. There’s a map somewhere inside. Try to avoid military patrols. They’re not too keen on strangers.”

“I’m not too keen on military anyway.” He smiled. “Keep the map. I got Caroline.”

Blake gave him a sharp look. His hair was too long. He kept brushing the curls away from his eyes. He looked like a local Che Guevara, Kerry realized. “Who’s that?”

Kerry smiled. “You’d call it a GPS but it’s a little more than that… Overprecise. Satellite guided. No download, very long lasting battery, large distance radar. It’s a prototype. A friend of mine works in Science. He designed the system for the army. He got me me one. I customized it.”

Hooked. He saw the glitter in Blake’s eyes. Or maybe it was just the reflection of the dying streetlamp. Kerry retrieved Caroline from his worn leather bag, flipped it on and handed it to Blake. “Say hello, Caro,” he commanded.

“Hello, Kerry darling. What can I do for you, today?” the soft feminine voice asked. 

“Give me our current coordinates.”

“Easy.” The system displayed a complete sight of Earth and rapidly located them, like an eagle spotting a rat in a field. “Murillo, 15.5° south, 67.7° west.” The map changed, showing the exact place where they stood. Blake came closer, his shoulder brushing against Kerry’s leather jacket. “Any vehicles in a range of 1 mile?”

“Nothing, Darling.”

“Distance from the closest airport?”

“400 miles. “

“Give me the route to go there. All possible itineraries…”

“I could use such a thing,” Blake said, his eyes on the screen, mesmerized as Caroline traced 3 different routes, satellite view, three dimensional details. Moving vehicles, buildings, obstacles and commented the weather, the maximum possible speed and other data in her sweet voice.

Kerry smiled. Considering the state of the military equipment he’d seen, Blake could use a compass and a sling. “It comes with a price,” he said.

“Really?” The rebel’s smile was anything but kind. 

He’s going to kill me, Kerry thought. He can’t let me go away; I’m too dangerous. I can spot their camp. I can use the information against them… Suddenly the cold tip of the gun was pressing against his throat. “I don’t think so,” Blake said.

Kerry had expected to die sooner. He had woken up confused, not quite certain of what was happening, memories (but can you have memories of the future?) colliding, cold sweat rolling down his back. Looking up from his sitting position he had seen Blake towering over him, his face hard. He’s going to kill me. When instead the guerilla had handed out a glass of alcohol, Kerry had thought of the proverbial last drink and downed it nonetheless. Now he realized that he would die there, on the concrete ground of this garage. Karma, maybe. But I still have a trump card.

“You can’t use it. Caro is voice commanded. I’ll have to reconfigure it for you. It will be worth my life, trust me.”

Blake seemed to think about it – a bit too long.

“You got my guns too,” Kerry added.

Blake shook his head. “I should make you beg for your life.”

The anger in his voice hit Kerry like a blow. “You can try,” he said. “Listen. I have no personal interest in this war. I don’t want to get involved in it – on any side. I won’t betray anything I saw to anyone and really, I’d much prefer to live, if it’s not too much asking.”

That got him a narrow smile. “It’s really you,” Blake said slowly. “It’s really you. Avon.”

“Yes.” He would wonder later about what Blake’s voice conveyed. 

They came to an arrangement. Blake drove him out of the camp and along a winding road that was not the one his driver had followed earlier. They went for about ten miles. Blake kept his eyes on the road; Kerry was busy working on Caroline. Blake only talked when it was necessary – Kerry needed a vocal imprint to configure the computer. When the car stopped he handed it to Blake. “It’s yours. You can give it another name. Caroline was my first lover’s name. I changed the voice too. I don’t think your fellow fighters would understand my humor.”

Blake made a brief trial, obviously relieved that the device did not call him Darling, and pocketed it. Turning to Kerry he said, “I changed my mind. I’ll keep the car. You can hitch hike your way back to San Juan.”

Kerry was kicked out of the car; his head hit the pavement. Lying on the gravel he watched as the Jeep pulled away long after the pencil of light had vanished in the distance. Then he closed his eyes and started to wait.

A truck picked him up the next day. The driver was a short solid woman with a distinctive Indian type. Her remaining front teeth were stained with the coca leaves she masticated. Not exactly Kerry’s type – although he prided himself on having no type in women. Or men, for that matter. She didn’t speak a single word of English and her Spanish was interlaced with a local dialect that made it almost impossible to understand. Anyway she wasn’t prone to talking; after a few minutes she turned on the radio. Kerry leaned back against his seat and closed his eyes, trying to run through things. 

There was not much to run through. Most of what had happened in the latest 24 hours was beyond reason, logic and everything Kerry believed in. He had the memories of another man who would only exist in a distant future. Taking a look at the mirror above his head, he could see himself and this man both, just like he had seen Blake in the freedom fighter – terrorist. The memories of what would happen 3 000 years later were as clear as the details of the past three years. Kerry had never believed in all the New Age bullshit but even if he reconsidered, how could you have memories of the future? And how many chances were there that if you had, you met someone who shared them? Could you still call it coincidence? He laughed – the woman turned to him and gave her a toothless smile in answer. Fate? He didn’t believe in that either. Or maybe this was an illusion. Maybe he was Kerr Avon, and this – his life in the 21st century – was a trick the Federation was playing on him. They could do such things. But not for long, and not with so many details. Confused, he pressed his palms against his eyes. He was tired, thirsty, hungry, stressed out and unable to think clearly. Later. I’ll try later.

“La Presidenta,” the woman said later. Kerry had almost fallen asleep in spite of the bumpy road and the hazardous driving. “Estrella Juarez.” She pointed at the radio. A woman was talking. She had a beautiful voice and a cultured elocution. He listened. It was a political speech about order, civil war, terrorism and the necessity of merciless sanctions against those who threatened the country’s safety… Noticing his interest, the driver retrieved a picture from the glove box and handed it to Kerry. “Presidenta Juarez. Una muy extraordinaria Mujer.” Her expression was one of pride and veneration. Kerry stared at the picture of a slim, still young and beautiful woman with long dark hair. Her smile was a little too ferocious and her eyes hard despite the make-up. “La nuestra madre.” 

Kerry nodded. He closed his eyes. One thing this woman didn’t look like – a mother. He doubted she ever had any children. He doubted that a child might want such a mother. Estrella Juarez. So it wasn’t just he and Blake. The thought terrified him because it implied things he didn’t believe in. It demanded a conscious effort to shut his mind off and sleep but he did and when he woke up, the truck had stopped. In front of him was the airport of San Juan. He could go home.


	3. a snake by any other name...

The plane had been late – a storm, a downpour, all lights out, thick windows rattled by a ferocious wind. Five hours later at last Kerry was standing at the foot of the gangway, ready to board his plane, when he noticed the procession, a few yards away. Men, dressed in black, with suitcases; soldiers carrying powerful weapons, watching out and in the middle, a tiny woman wrapped in a huge silky scarf walking at a jog trot toward a waiting helicopter. The men had to hurry to catch up with her; she seemed to barely notice them. Regal.

Mesmerized, Kerry couldn’t look away. The sight was so familiar and yet so unreal that he found himself unable to move. He caught each and every detail; the way she wrapped herself more tightly in the embroidered stole, the way the fabric moved around her, the obvious confidence, the determined gait. It was her; he had no doubt about that. He knew this woman, a perfect stranger, as intimately as if he had spent the last ten years in her company. The sensation was making him dizzy. 

One of the passengers, an old man with a tiny suitcase bumped into him and swore, glaring. Kerry didn’t even look at him and suddenly, sensing that she was watched maybe, the woman stopped, a hand raised to warn her companions. Run, Kerry thought. Run now. It’s not too late; you can still pretend none of this happened. You can forget and get on with your life. Once you’ve met her, held her gaze, heard her voice, there will be no way out. No way back.

He heard whispers around him. Other passengers had stopped to watch. La Presidenta. La Madre de la Nacion. Estrella Juarez… She turned, looking for the source of her sudden alert, her gaze searching the small crowd standing at the bottom of the plane. She was too far to catch every detail but just like he’d known immediately who she was, she spotted him. Kerry saw her summon one of the guards and tell him something. The man bowed and trotted up to him, said a few words in a commanding tone. “Follow me.”

Kerry obeyed, his feet moving of their own volition. She watched him, standing there hieratical and proud. When he reached her, she waved the guard away and stared at Kerry, something akin to fear in her huge dark eyes. He noticed once more how attractive she was. Her hair was tied in a bun, loose dark strands dancing around her pale face. Too much make up maybe but still, a beauty. The fierceness of his anger took him by surprise. 

“Avon,” she said in a whisper.

He thought of lying but dismissed it. He remembered the troopers and the guns pointed at him. He remembered dying.

“Should I be worried to meet you here?” she asked, her voice a soft melody, her eyes steel-hard. “I hope it is only the two of us, Avon. Another chance we are given; a fresh start.” She frowned. “I would not like to believe that I could find someone else – that friend of yours; the one you murdered – Blake - somewhere around.”

He held her gaze, his heard freezing. “Servalan. I read somewhere that this country was snake-ridden. Still it is a surprise to find you here.”

No matter how hard she tried to look cool, he saw how uncomfortable she felt. 

“I am sorry,” he said. “My flight is waiting.”

On that he turned his back on her and walked back to his plane, every step an agonizing effort, forcing the fear away, expecting to be shot, maybe, or called back. When he glanced at her from the top of the gangway, she was still standing there, the guards gathered around her. All were staring at him. 

She is not an idiot, he thought. She’ll look for Blake. One way or another, she will find out. When she does…

And Blake, with his idiotic logic, will think I betrayed him again.

It was a long and chaotic flight back home. The only time Kerry managed to fall asleep, he killed Blake. The dream felt unbearably real. After that, he could not really hope to resume his old, almost normal life, no matter how much he wanted it.


	4. The more, the merrier

The slow humming of his professional coffee machine woke Kerry up at dawn – someone was there, which was worrying since he remembered very clearly walking back alone the previous night and locking the door. He didn’t have much time to worry about it though because the loud banging on the door required immediate attention.

“Police! We have to search your flat, Sir. We suspect a criminal has found shelter in your apartment.”

Indeed, Kerry thought while taking a step back. But if he’s smart enough to unlock my door, he’s smart enough not to be found.

“No one here,” one of the cops shouted. “Sorry Sir. Wrong floor.”

He heard them run back to the lower floors to harass another victim. Cautious, he opened a hidden closet, retrieved a gun and went to the kitchen, unlocked the window.

“All right,” he said aloud. “I’ll give you sixty seconds to come out of hiding. After that I’ll go for you and it will be painful.”

He counted thirty and a low thump made him draw his gun. A silhouette appeared on the edge of the window before slipping nimbly into the room.

“Put down the gun, mate. Lethal weapons tend to make me feel uncomfortable.”

Avon laughed. “Mate? You’re overstepping a few boundaries here, don’t you think?”

The intruder rose to his feet and opened his mouth to say something – something stupid probably- but then he saw Kerry and just stood, staring. Kerry lowered the gun and put it on the table. “Hello Vila,” he said quietly.

“Wait, wait, wait. My name isn’t… I’m not… Jesus. I’m in hell.” Vila - or however he was called these days, collapsed on a chair, a grimace on his face. "I need a drink."

Kerry retrieved a bottle of scotch, poured a healthy dose of it in a tumbler and sat on the corner of the table, his arms crossed while Vila drank. “How did you manage to unlock the door? It's supposed to be as safe as Fort Knox.”

That never failed; Vila’s professional pride resurfaced. “That was a bit of a challenge, I must say. Took a while to let myself in.” Then raising the glass he added, "Nice stuff."

“You used my coffee machine.”

“Hey! It was an accident. It looks like something you'd find in a bar, all shiny and black.”

“And expensive. You don’t get to touch it. I’ll make coffee while you explain why those gentlemen were after you.”

“It’s a mistake, I tell you. They confused me with another guy.”

“Please. We’re just the two of us. Just tell me the truth.”

Vila talked. It was the classic story: misery, no school, life on the street in a seedy suburb. A talent to pick locks that had led him to a successful career until he’d stolen some valuable stuff including secrets he should never have uncovered. “Those people are too dangerous. They’re after ma I know, so I’m flying. No matter where. I gotta go.”

Three cups later, Kerry was drawing mysterious patterns on the table with his fingers and Vila had stopped talking. When Kerry didn’t say anything he chimed. “I’ll leave you to it, now. I really got to go.”

“I’m leaving too. South America. Emerald mines. Nice place, warm and sunny.”

Vila looked wary. “Yeah? What’s the trap? With you it’s generally about something else.”

“Green is my favourite colour. Green and gold.”

“I see. Emeralds. Money. Let me think about it. OK.”

It took Kerry a few hours to get the right papers, a visa and suitable clothes. Surprising how Vila looked good when dressed appropriately, and taller that people usually thought him to be. Vila was always more than what he seemed, Kerry knew that. They reached the airport in the afternoon and spent some time in the boarding room. Kerry bought some papers while Vila looked around, wary.

“Planes make me nervous. I never flew before, you know.”

“Maybe you should write me a list of things that don’t make you nervous, that would be faster.”

The flight was long and boring. Kerry pretended to sleep while Vila chatted up some bejewelled lady. Kerry opened his eyes long enough to glare at him and Vila gave him an open innocent smile that made him roll his eyes. To hell with him, Kerry thought. He was in enough trouble as it was. His sudden decision to go back to San Juan was irrational to say the least and he had absolutely no idea what he’d do next. Not ending in some rat-infested cell was on top of his priority. He had taken some of his most sophisticated tools with him, among which Caroline 2 and a few spare parts he would use as exchange money if needed. The times we’re living, he thought, make technology more precious than diamonds.

Kerry had planned that they’d go their separate ways at the airport. When they got out of the tedious toll formalities (although he managed to speed the process with a bunch of American dollars) they walked out and went for a taxi. Suddenly Vila froze.

“What still?” Kerry asked, then followed Vila’s gaze. On a huge picture hanging just in front of the taxi station, the beautiful eyes of Estrella Juarez stared at them. “Estrella Juarez for President!” The text said. “Mother of the people.”

“You didn’t mention this,” Vila said. It sounded like a reproach and Kerry didn’t feel compelled to answer as he motioned a taxi. As they sat inside, Vila asked: “What else didn’t you mention?”

Tricky question. “Nothing.”

“You are a lousy liar, Avon.”

“It’s for your own safety. You’ll never meet her anyway.”

“Is she still the same bitch as ever?”

“I believe so.”

“Are you going to kill her this time?”

“It came to my mind. It might prove a little tricky though.”

Vila seemed to think. “I hate this bitch. I’d love to see her dead.” He frowned. “I suppose there must be some opponents?”

“I bet there are but they are keeping a low profile.”

The same silence again. “I don’t know much about South America but I seem to remember that there are some groups of terrorists here fighting for freedom?”

“Uh uh.” Kerry pretended to be engrossed in the contemplation of the slums piled along the way.

“So it’s about Blake, isn’t it? You’re after him, single-minded maniac that you are. I should’ve hidden somewhere else. Must be karma. I sure did something very wrong in some past life.”

“You did a lot of wrong things in this life, already.” Kerry touched the driver’s shoulder. “Stop here. My friend’s home.”

Vila protested. “What? You’re gonna leave me stranded here? Middle of nowhere? I got no money, nothing and you…”

“You can sell the poor lady’s jewels you stole on the plane and I quite trust your ability to deal with anything here. Good luck, Vila.” Kerry shoved him out of the car and the driver started again, laughing.

“I’m doing this for your sake, Vila,” Kerry said to himself. “No need to get you entangled in this.” He booked a room in a nice hotel, center of town, quiet place with lots of tourists and diplomats. His window opened on a wide square with palm trees and wooden benches, old ladies walking their dogs in the morning and too many armed soldiers quietly pacing back and forth – for everyone’s security, one of them explained. On the next day Kerry saw a long file of tanks driving past his hotel. That same night, there was a knock on the door. 

“It’s me Avon, open the door. I got some news.”

Kerry let Vila inside. He didn't ask how he'd find him. 

“I spent the last two days in that place where you left me, making friends," Vila said. "Nice people I met there. Poor, of course so I couldn’t even steal anything from them but really friendly. A few hours ago tough the army surrounded the place with tanks and started arresting people. Shoved them against a wall and shot them. I managed to slip away. There’s something going on, Avon and it smells bad."

Kerry was about to tell him something nasty about cowardice when they heard the trucks outside, voices shouting, orders being given and the heavy steps in the corridor. 

“They’re coming for us,” Vila said. 

“Probably not but I’d rather keep clear from them. Let’s go.” Kerry grabbed his wallet and the bag where his tools were and they slipped out of the room, using the bathroom window and sliding down the fire escape to reach the small back street, unnoticed. 

“I got a car. I took it from one of the guys they shot down. I parked it by the river; must be a mile from here,” Vila whispered as they walked, keeping away from the street lamps, mere shadows in the night.

Vila had a good sense of directions. It took them less than five minutes to reach the old green Jeep he’d stolen. “I changed the license plates; the guy had one spare pair in his house. I thought it would be easier.”I’

Kerry nodded. “Drive,” he said. In the background, he heard three explosions and huge flames lit up the night behind them. “Our hotel. God only knows what or who they were after.”

Vila drove for two hours. Once out of the old Spanish area they reached the residential districts, nice white houses and huge gardens with guards patrolling everywhere and after that, endless miserable suburbs, slums, trash cans piled on both sides of the roads, fires burning here and there, corrugated iron, half-starved dogs suddenly appearing in the headlights. Two hours later they were in the country side; the air was damp and hot. 

“We’ll need weapons,” Kerry mused, as Vila drove around a huge gap in the road.

“Got some hidden in the trunk,” Vila said matter-of-factly. “Not mine. Poor guy must’ve wanted to sell them. Or he was a rebel.”

They saw a light on the left: a small restaurant, trucks parked in front of it. “Let’s grab something to eat. We deserve a drink,” Vila said.

Inside they ordered whatever was on the menu: sandwiches with sausages and beans, hot and spicy, and beer. Vila drank his very fast. Same old, Kerry thought. He drank coffee; he needed a clear head. They were standing at the bar, surrounded by a small crowd of men, most of them young and fierce looking. The TV was on. After the ads for the local drink, the perfect face of Estrella Juarez came on screen and she started to talk, her voice like velvet, her eyes like hot lava. The conversations died in the bar.

“What does she say?” Vila asked.

Pictures of the hotel burned down to ashes, a man Kerry had met the day before being led out between armed men, another one trying to run before being caught and beaten up…

“I’m not sure about the details,” Avon said. 

A man turned to them, a truck driver by the look of him. “Communists,” he spats. “spawn of the devil stirring up unrest. Trying to pull our Estrella down, the bastards.”

Vila grabbed Avon’s arm. A picture on the screen showed a man with dark curly hair and brown eyes. He was dressed in khakis and looked grim and determined. “Blake,” Vila mouthed.

The man who’d talked to them walked out to his truck and another one took his place, spat out some tobacco juice. He looked at Avon and Vila and raised his glass. “Bloody liar. To hell with the bitch,” he said, and pointing at the screen he added. “This one is the real man. He fights for freedom. El Aquila de la Libertad.” A few other men nodded and downed their glasses.

“Let’s go,” Kerry said. “Let’s find him.”

“Yes. And let’s hope he’s got some better beer than this piss.”

tbc...


	5. On the road again

It made no sense driving randomly. They found a small hotel in a village, far enough from the main road. The TV only played local channels and the air conditioner was wheezy. The few customers they saw were tourists or salesmen. Vila sighed resignedly and settled himself on the bed with a bottle of cold local beer, watching a reality show in Spanish while Kerry pulled out the parts he would need to build the device that would allow him to locate Blake.

“I don’t suppose you’ll need me for anything, uh?” Vila asked when the show was over and the bottle empty.

“No.”

Another long-suffering sigh and Vila said, “don’t mind me. I’m just having the time of my life.”

Kerry rolled his eyes. “Please. You could still be in London running for your freedom.”

“I don’t feel particularly safe here,” he said. “And we didn’t get near any emerald mine.” He got up. “I’m going out for a walk. I need to learn their language better. Find some local who’s willing to help me. Preferably a girl.”

“So you’ll be able to say everything from “leave me alone” to “go fuck yourself” in Spanish. Good luck.”

The door slammed on Vila. When he came back three hours later, his mood had improved quite a bit. Bottles of various alcohol, a basket of local food landed on the small table where tiny electronic chips were carefully aligned. “Careful!” Avon growled. “This is really tricky and expensive. Take your stuff out of here.”

Vila obeyed. “You know,” he said, “Sometimes I think we quarrel like an old couple.”

Avon closed his eyes and stretched. “Considering I’ve been knowing you for a full week, I don’t think old couple is really adequate.”

“Still, it fits. I notice you didn’t reject the couple part,” he said with a wink. “And you have to take into account that we do share a whole lot of memories. Liberator? Scorpio? Rings a bell?”

Avon’s answer was as noncommittal as possible, a groan mostly while he retrieved a miniaturized soldering iron and started working on what looked like a graphic board – only smaller and very alien looking. 

“Anyway,” Vila continued. “I chatted with the local girls and boys, bought them a drink or two. They told me about the emerald mines. Does it surprise you that Serva…. Uh, Estrella Juarez owns ninety percent of them? It’s in the family, has been for centuries. Since conquistadors raided the country, I guess. There’s one big mine ten miles from here. Purest emeralds in the world, biggest too. The mine is impenetrable, of course. Juarez’ militia, hundreds of guys around, safety systems like you can’t even think of…”

“I doubt that,” Avon said. “And don’t forget you’ve been talking to people who live in middle-age.”

“Maybe. Still…. There’s a river down the mine. They let the people around give it a shot. Kids, women, old folks, everyone goes there.”

“You want to go too.”

“Well, why not?”

Kerry sighed. “It sounds dangerous. I don’t need us to draw any attention.”

“Come on, Avon. You know me. I’ll melt into the crowd.”

“I’m not your keeper,” Avon said in a clipped tone. “Do whatever you want. If you’re in trouble, I won’t come to your rescue. And I’ll be leaving in 24 hours, with or without you.”

Vila smiled. “Fine by me.”

They shared the food and a few drinks. Vila chatted enthusiastically about the people he’d met, had Kerry smile a few times. It was late when he left. Kerry didn’t ask how he intended to reach the mine: he trusted Vila to have a plan. And new friends who would take care of him – or kill him. Before he left, Kerry had handed him a weapon and a phone. Vila had taken both.

Kerry didn’t sleep much that night. On the next day around noon Caroline 2 was ready. He set it to his own likings and asked her to localize her older sister, hoping that Blake hadn’t broken it or lost it. He didn’t trust the man with such sophisticated technology. It was likely though that Caro’s battery was dead by now but even then it would be possible to locate it. When the signal came back, weak but perfectly recognizable, Kerry felt the usual moment of triumph.

When his phone rang, he was loading the car. “Come pick me up,” Vila said. “I made friends.”

“We don’t need friends.”

“Who knows?”

Kerry drove until he reached the river and left the Jeep under a huge tree. Pulling out his binoculars he started watching. Everything around the mine was eerily calm. Guards were patrolling outside, heavily armed. Lower by the river some guys had started a fight. He saw blood and a man lying on the ground. Probably a quarrel about emeralds. He sat by the river, a mile below the groups of men who were working there, fighting, digging, hoping to find their fortune in the stream. As the day faded slowly he saw two silhouettes walk towards him. One was Vila. The other one was a guard, or a soldier, or a man from Juarez’ militia. As he came closer, his built, his walk became more and more familiar. Stepping back, Vila left the two men face to face.

Kerry found nothing to say. They’d never been friends, really. Rather rivals, jealous of each other more than anything else but they’d worked side by side for a few years and they’d died together.

“I’m not telling you my name,” the man said in a bad English. “And I’m not coming with you. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. It is….” He shrugged, rolled his eyes. 

“You’re working for Estrella Juarez, Tarrant. You know who she is.”

Tarrant smiled, ran a hand across his hair. “You don’t know how we’re living here, Avon,” the man said. “There’s no job. No money. I have a wife and a baby. I need the salary. You think Juarez is the devil but she pays well. I’m not quitting.”

Kerry nodded. “I understand.”

“Vila says you’re after Blake, once more. That’ll be the death of you. Again.”

“Maybe.” Kerry smiled an angry smile. “We’ll see.”

“I don’t want your obsession to be the death of me too.” Tarrant shrugged. “I don’t understand how it is possible. It is even real?”

“When did you remember?”

“I saw Vila roaming around the site. Then I remembered.” He shook his head. “I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d lived in ignorance forever.”

“Ignorance is bliss, as they say.”

“Get out of my life. I don’t want any of this to come back. Go away.”

“It has already come back, Tarrant. You’re a fool if you think it can go away.”

Tarrant shrugged and hurried back towards the mine. 

When he’d disappeared, Vila said, “I got his name. Who knows. We might need him. Oh and,” he retrieved something in his pocket. “Tarrant gave me this.”

Unpolished as it was, the stone wasn’t very impressive but both men knew the value of it. An emerald of this size… Avon looked up at the path Tarrant had taken. 

“I always knew he wasn’t all bad,” Vila said.

“Mmmm. Let’s hope he doesn’t betray us to his boss. The emerald might be Judas’ kiss.” He let Vila keep it, hopped into the car. “Come on, let’s go.”

Kerry drove for three hundred miles, following Caro’s directions. “She’s the new Orac,” Vila mused. “What Tarrant said… He’s right, you know. How can we be sure it’s all real? Do you have any clever explanation for this? Blake, Servalan, Tarrant, you, me. How can we be here?”

“Maybe we’re not. Maybe I’m lying on the floor in some Federation cell. Dying maybe. Maybe it’s all a dream.”

“Of course. Trust you to find an explanation that revolves around you. But I feel real enough, thanks. The stone in my pocket feels real. It doesn’t feel like a dream.”

When I see Blake again, I’ll know, Kerry thought. 

“Remembering the future feels very strange,” Vila said, yawning.

“Past and future are relative notions. If time’s a circle, then…”

Vila was asleep. 

************

It was the middle of the night and Blake was sitting at his desk in what passed as an office. He felt tired and defeated. Lonely. That war he’d embarked on with so little means looked impossible to carry on, let alone win. He was a hero to his men but Estrella Juarez was a goddess to the people. The country was so backward, its people so superstitious and easy to fool. Servalan, well Juarez, was powerful; she held all the riches of the country in her greedy hands, how could he dream of defeating her? Of course more and more men and women were joining the revolution but those were uneducated, unarmed, easily frightened for most of them. His army was untrained and under-equipped. Suddenly furious against himself, he banged his fist on the table. He didn’t have the right to despair. He didn’t have the right to doubt. His cause was just; the fight against such a bloody tyranny was a good fight. He couldn’t give up. In the silence something caught his attention. A low whizzing that seemed to come from the top locker of his desk. He pulled it open and found that the device Avon had given him was working again. Blake had fought to find some alternative source of energy when the batteries had died, depriving him from a precious tool, but the thing worked in a way he couldn’t understand – of course, since Avon had created it, probably making sure no one else could use it. But now it was waking up, a red light pulsing like a beating heart at the top of it while the noise went on. Feverish Blake pressed the on button – and cursed himself. What if it was not Avon? What if it was Avon and he was with Juarez? What if…. He stared at the device, gnawing at his thumb, torn between foolish hope and paranoid dread. Last time I was paranoid, he thought, I died. Let’s try the other option this time..

Eventually though he called one of the guards who slept next door and both men got into the truck. Blake managed to plug Avon’s device to the cigar lighter – it was the only way to get a signal. “Now, my friend,” he said, “lead me to him.”

They made contact on the road that climbed from the forest to the high plateau. The people lived there, mostly natives who had kept a very simple and traditional way of life. Women in coloured clothes carrying babies on their back pushed their bicycles along the road, heavy baskets hanging on both sides of the saddles, ancient Volkswagen trucks overcrowded with clusters of passengers passed them with a sign. The landscape was desolate – no trees, very little vegetation and a huge lake in the distance.

Kerry had parked the car on a small parking area. Despite the sun, the cold was biting. Vila had wrapped a blanket around him and complained to himself. Above them, the snowy mountains shone like diamonds. When Caro started to signal Blake’s approach Kerry got out of the car to wait. He saw the truck, saw it slow down and stop, turned to signal Vila to keep ready, just in case things became ugly – his memories of his latest meeting with Blake were still painful. He watched as Blake jumped down and walked up to him.

“You came back,” Blake said.

Kerry nodded. 

“I’m glad you did. I acted stupidly when you first came to me.”

“Not for the first time. Now listen. The reason why I came back… One of the reasons at least is this: when you sent me back so unceremoniously I managed to reach the airport in San Juan. Estrella Juarez was there. She saw me.”

Blake frowned. “Did she recognize you?”

“She called me Avon so we can agree that she did. She spotted me in the crowd. Asked if you were there too somewhere. I wanted you to know.”

Blake was about to answer when the Jeep’s door was slammed and Vila appeared, still wrapped in his blanket. “Vila?” he said, and looking at Kerry, he said, “how is it possible?”

“Everyone keeps asking me the question,” Kerry said, annoyed, “as if I had some supernatural knowledge. I don’t have a clue.”

“And I suppose it’s useless to remind you that my name is not Vila?” Vila said.

“Who cares?” Kerry said, shrugging. “is there somewhere we can talk without freezing to death?”

The local bar was a mere wooden cabin with three tables and an antique heater but it was warm there and quiet. Kerry drank terrible coffee; Vila stuck to beer and Blake ordered something indescribable and probably local. 

“There’s one thing I wanted to know since I met you,” Blake said, looking troubled. “On that base of mine, after you… after I died. What happened?”

Kerry looked at Vila who looked down. “We all died. The Federation had sent troopers. You were betrayed, Blake. But not by me.”

“I guess the Rebellion died that day. God!” he pressed his temples with his fingers – headache threatened. “I wish I could go back and change things.”

Vila snorted. “Avon has not yet invented the time-machine. Leave him a few years, Blake!”

“We can’t go back,” Kerry said, “And back might not be the right word. You’ll have to win your revolution here and know, Blake, or die trying.”

“Will you help me?” Blake asked, looking straight into Kerry’s eyes.

“Well, I’m here; that must say something. I’d rather avoid dying, though, if you don’t mind.”

“Same for me,” Vila said.

“But whatever I can do to help…” Kerry continued.

Blake thought about it for a whole minute while Kerry drank his coffee with grimaces of distaste. “I think I have a plan,” he said. 

And that, Kerry thought, was really frightening.

tbc...


End file.
